


Ficlet: Christmas Party

by linaerys



Category: Pundit RPF (US)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-29
Updated: 2007-04-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linaerys/pseuds/linaerys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From her version of <a href="http://linaerys.livejournal.com/503179.html">last night's meme</a>, <span><a href="http://apocalypsos.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://apocalypsos.livejournal.com/"><b>apocalypsos</b></a></span> asked "What was the weirdest thing that happened at the Daily Show <strike>Christmas</strike> Osama's Homobortion Pot & Commie Jizzporium party?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ficlet: Christmas Party

**The Daily Show ~~Christmas~~ Osama's Homobortion Pot  & Commie Jizzporium Party (PG-13, for language)**

Keith was there at their usual 10th Ave. diner a half-hour before anyone else arrived. Jon and Stephen slid into the booth at 1:30pm, looking a little greenish. “So. How was the party last night?” asked Keith.

“Oh, please don’t.” Jon put his head in his hands. “Your voice has this whiny note that I just can’t take this morning.”

“Don’t insult me by avoiding the subject,” said Keith.

“Actually,” said Stephen, “I believe he was avoiding the subject by insulting you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come,” said Keith cheerfully, through a far-too-large mouthful of scrambled egg.

Jon glared at him balefully. His Bloody Mary hadn’t come yet, and the coffee really wasn’t doing the trick. “I don’t recall inviting you,” he said.

Keith looked injured. “I was invited.”

Stephen smiled a big, fake, in-character smile. “I invited him. But only so he could get drunk and annoy Anderson.”

Keith looked around. “Where _is_ Anderson?”

Stephen frowned guiltily. “Well, Julio—.”

“You mean Daniel Craig—,” Jon cut in.

“You mean George Clooney—,” Stephen finished.

Jon put down his coffee mug with a little extra force, and then winced at the noise. “You mean George is cheating on me?”

“Sweetheart, you never had him,” said Stephen. “One look at Anderson’s perfect blue eyes—.”

“What did you do to him?” asked Keith.

“Weelllllll,” said Jon, “we wanted to send him home to Julio—.”

“Daniel—.”

“George,” added Jon, making a face, “looking a little the worse for wear. There may have been lipstick involved.”

“There _was_ lipstick involved,” said Stephen with a grin.

“On him?” asked Keith.

Jon shook his head and then wished he hadn’t. “No. See you have to understand something. The party sucked.”

“A Daily Show Christmas party?” asked Keith. “I find that hard to believe.”

“It wasn’t a Christmas party, it was the—.”

“Osama's Homobortion Pot and Commie Jizzporium,” finished Stephen all in one breath.

“You don’t even work there anymore,” said Keith.

“I remember a good line when I hear one.”

Jon smiled and bowed his head slightly. “Well, thank you, Stephen. The problem was, the name was the best thing about the party.”

“Until the lipstick,” prompted Keith.

“Well, at first we were just going to send him home with lipstick on his collar,” said Stephen. “He wanted to leave early to get home to Julio—.”

“Daniel Cr—.”

“I get it already,” said Keith. “Were you doing that last night, too?”

Jon looked chagrinned. “Maybe. Anyway, the lipstick. Sam Bee had a nice bright red.”

“Tequila Sunset,” said Stephen.

“You remember the name?” asked Jon.

“Attention to detail, my friend.”

“There’s attention to detail and then there’s—and yet my show is still gayer than yours. How does that happen?”

“So you put lipstick on his collar,” said Keith. “That’s—.”

“It didn’t stop there,” said Stephen, looking far too pleased with himself.

“We were going to send him home with Rob Riggle, dressed in drag,” said Jon. Keith recoiled at that. “He makes a surprisingly—.”

“He makes a not-at-all surprisingly butch woman,” said Stephen, “But that’s not what happened. Jon decided that it would be better if there were actual kisses—lip marks—you know?”

“We were going to get an intern to do it,” said Jon.

“Sexual harassment much?” asked Stephen.

“She was begging to be allowed,” said Jon.

“I meant of Anderson.”

“Well, of course. That goes without saying. But he’d only agree to it if Stephen and I did it.”

“He had to agree to it?” asked Keith.

“He’s surprisingly wiry,” said Stephen.

“Slippery too. We couldn’t get a grip on him. Then again, I can’t even get a grip on my two-year-old, so that’s not saying much.”

“So you applied lipstick to his collar the old-fashioned way,” said Keith. “That’s all?”

“Weellllll, no,” said Stephen.

“Little fucker got someone to take pictures,” said Jon. “He’s blackmailing us.”

“What does he want?” asked Keith.

Jon glanced around the diner, and Keith started to get distinctly nervous—the diner was empty. Even the waitresses had disappeared.

“You still have it?” asked Jon. Stephen took out a tube of what looked like Tequila Sunset. Keith noticed he was sitting on the inside of the booth, with no avenue of escape.

“I’m sorry to have to do this,” said Jon. “But it’s for your own good.”

“Our good, really,” said Stephen. “Our reputations are at stake.”

He applied the lipstick, with a skill that Keith found rather amazing, leaned across the table and . . .

 **The End.**   



End file.
